


up up in the air

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Brother/Brother Incest, Fear Play, M/M, Modern AU, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships, dubcon, ferris wheel handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Two carnival plushies are witness to a flagrant disregard for ride safety.
Relationships: Thorgil/Olmar (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous





	up up in the air

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the gentler modern au, with [from the many-venomed earth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723874) and [tornerose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750334).
> 
> Further content notes: some mentions of puking, the usual Bad Dom Thorkell

The gun jerks every time Olmar tries to shoot, but he keeps on trying. It's been a while since he really ran the credit card up.

There's a guy behind him sighing louder and louder, obviously trying to get a point across, but Olmar doesn't give a shit. The guy can get in line behind someone else if he wants to win a prize so damn much. Olmar has a bad mood to work off.

Hopefully Thorgil's working off his own bad mood, wherever he is right now, because when Olmar threw up on their first roller coaster, he didn't even have the courage to look at his brother until they rolled back to the starting point. He didn't really have a choice then, but all Thorgil did was drop him off the stand—by the scruff of his neck, practically—and hand him a handkerchief. He didn't say a word, just got back on the ride.

Olmar just slunk away. He hasn't even used the handkerchief, just held it over his face like a bank robber while he paid for a shirt with the amusement park logo. He wiped his face off with the shirt, threw that out, and then ran the handkerchief under a water fountain until he was sure it was totally clean. It's drying on his shoulder now. His shirt's getting wet and he might look a little unhinged, but losing something Thorgil owns would be even worse than giving it back covered with puke and tears.

They were upside down when it happened, luckily for both of them—just thinking about the alternative makes his mouth start to dry out. Someone else is probably having to spend their day in park clothes, but not his brother. Thank fucking God.

It might be imagining that terrifying alternate universe, where he's an actual dead man walking, that distracts Olmar enough to finally hit something. It's a pretty big target with a RUNNER-UP star on its chest. The prize is one of those weird yellow things Mom's friends post on Facebook sometimes.

Olmar sits down on a bench, feeling a little better about his life, and looks at the little yellow guy. It's not exactly a Rasta banana, or even a pirate banana, but at least it's something to show for his time. There's maybe a fifty percent chance it'll cheer Thorgil up, once he's done riding every coaster in the park. Or whatever he's doing. He's sure had enough time.

A growl from Olmar's stomach reminds him that he's also had enough time to recover from his one ride. He wanders up and down the one corridor of the park he's staked out—just baby rides and family stuff, so no chance he'll run into his brother before Thorgil's had a chance to cheer up. The food stands have crappy little paper menus and he stuffs a couple into his back pocket. Finally he sits down in front of the shooting game again, and zones out on his phone so hard that he doesn't notice Thorgil until a hand descends on the back of his neck and makes him jump.

"I'm not in the splash zone, am I?"

"No!" Olmar stands up really quick and stretches to show how much better he's feeling. "I'm fine. I was even looking at some menus."

"Yeah? Well, the swan boats are definitely out after that performance. I'm not about to trust you on the water."

He's more joking than really upset, Olmar decides after scanning him quickly up and down. He holds the plushie out, hoping to change the subject. "I won you this."

"What is that, a Spongebob?"

"It's a Minion. I was trying for one of those big bananas, but I just got this. It's kinda like half a banana."

"Like me and you, huh?" Thorgil takes the Minion in one hand and looks it over, half-interested. It's a two-eyed one and it's dressed like Tarzan. "Well, that's... sweet, I guess."

It seems like a stupid idea now. Olmar digs the toe of his shoe into the gross carnival dirt. "You can just throw it out, it's pretty dumb."

"Nah, I'll get you something too. You can keep ‘em both."

His brother aims the gun casually and his first shot takes out the smallest man with the #1 star on his chest. "There you go, little bro," Thorgil says loudly, for the benefit of the people looking at him enviously as they shell out the money for their tenth try.

He hands Olmar a Pikachu in a stewardess outfit. It's smaller than the Minion, which is weird for the top prize. Maybe it's because the costume's more complicated. Or maybe Pikachus are just more popular than jungle Minions. It's lifemates with the Minion now, though. Olmar's probably just going to stick them in the closet together, but he can't throw out something his brother took the time to win for him.

"Cute outfit," Thorgil says. "We're gonna have to get you one of those."

He's only talking a little quieter than before and a couple people are still looking, so Olmar digs the menu out of his back pocket really quick to hide that he's turning pink. "I can pay for hamburgers?"

"I'll cover it," Thorgil says. 

Olmar really can't figure out if this is a date or a family outing, but then he's having that problem a lot these days. He lets his brother buy the hamburgers while he picks a little picnic table sitting up against the wall of the stand. For parents with little kids to catch a few moments of peace, probably. He puts a couple napkins on the table and sets the Minion and the Pikachu on top of those.

Thorgil hands him a shake and a big hamburger, the same size as the one he ordered for himself. It doesn't matter that much which of them pays, since Thorgil can just use Dad's card too when his runs low, but Olmar always likes being paid for.

"Is that a little alternative lifestyle Pikachu? I didn't know they made those for kids."

"It's a girl. You can tell by how the tail's shaped."

"Is that right?" Thorgil squeezes his butt, slow and thoughtful. Their backs are up against the wall, but Olmar can feel his face going red for everybody to see as they walk by. "What's the difference, exactly?"

"It's..." Olmar tries to hold the Pikachu in front of his face. "Um, the girls have, like, a heart shape. At the tip. See?"

"Huh. That's not a heart I'm seeing." A thumb starts to ghost up Olmar's spine, under his shirt.

"Y-you said this wasn't gonna be..."

"You're the one making it dirty. All this talking about tails and tips."

They do go out and just do brother stuff sometimes, that's why it always takes Olmar by surprise. And whenever he goes in expecting it to go like _this_ , he ends up riding home with blue balls while Thorgil complains about the news on the radio.

"Can your little baby tummy handle the Ferris wheel, at least?"

"I, uh... don't really..." Hard to even think about that when he's getting felt up in public.

"Your little yellow friends can have their own seat. They might have to be facing the window, though." The pressure on the base of his spine is gentle but insistent. The kind that can turn into a tight grip at any second.

"'Kay." It's just a squeak.

"That's the spirit." Thorgil lets up on his back and reaches for his own shake. "You've always gotta get right back on the horse when you fall off."

Olmar knows this voice by now. He's going to be walking out of the ride on shaky knees, and that's if he's lucky.

Thorgil has a thing of hand sanitizer out before the cab's even moving. It stinks like a doctor's office even though the cabs are open-air, with just a roof and a body. He passes it over to Olmar along with a condom as the wheel starts to move. "No, of course not," he says, when Olmar looks at him in horror. "Just a hand job. But this thing must be crawling with bugs."

"We could just have a normal ride. We don't have to do anything." Olmar looks at the Minion and the Pikachu and turns them so they're facing backwards into the seat.

"Mm, yeah, we do." They're really off the ground now, just barely out of the ticket taker's view, and Thorgil pulls him into his lap, like Olmar knew he would. The cab has a back too, meaning no one else can look at them while they're in the air. "Can't have your dick rotting off till I'm done with it, though."

Thorgil takes the hand sanitizer and condom back from him impatiently, and sets the wrapper on Olmar's thigh while he flips the hand sanitizer open. Olmar still hasn't gotten tired of watching his brother's hands move, and he hopes he never will. The smell burns his nose a little, and Thorgil's fingers work between his, bigger and stronger and doing whatever they want, until his hands are clean and cold from the sanitizer evaporating.

Then he bites the wrapper open. Olmar unzips obediently while that's going on—he's the one who's gonna be embarrassed if they waste too much time—and his brother puts it on one-handed, the other arm wrapped tight around him.

"Wish I was young enough to get hard off a little hand-holding," Thorgil says.

He's been hard the whole time Olmar's been in his lap, but Olmar doesn't say anything. He just pulls Thorgil's hand back to his cock.

"Nope, hands off. Whole ride."

"You didn't need to put anything on my hands, then."

"We're both putting even more on once we're done. People must've fucked on every square inch of this thing."

Olmar looks out the window. The tops of people's heads are still in view. "You think? How long does the ride last?"

"No idea." Thorgil's thumb strokes along the whole upper side of his cock. "You better hope it's a long one."

He starts gentle sometimes, and he does it now. It's the nice calming kind of hand job he gives when they're alone but he didn't get the chance to plan anything special, and they just cuddle in bed like a real couple. Olmar nestles into his brother's big chest and feels Thorgil's hair sweeping over his neck, and it's like they really are alone, up in the sky where nobody else can see.

"Imagine falling from here," Thorgil says, at the height of the wheel's arc.

"Mmnh," Olmar says, squeezing Thorgil's shirt with both hands so he won't have to touch anything in the cab. He barely realizes he's being tilted until the back of his neck hits the edge of the cab.

"This one's only about 90 meters tall," Thorgil says. "Still a hell of a drop, though."

Olmar swallows and forces his hands to let go of the shirt. His fingers unclench slowly, but Thorgil only goes in harder when he feels like Olmar's being a wimp, so Olmar squeezes his eyes shut tighter and lets his arms move to his side instead. "Yeah," he manages.

"Eyes open."

The sky is blue and white above him. There's no sign up there of whether the cab's leaning, and he's not sure what the first sign would even be. Would he feel it? Hear it creaking? Hear someone screaming from another cab? He has a vision of the little cartoon man in front of the ticket stand that warned them not to horse around on the ride.

"You got in my lap, you know," Thorgil says, as if he's reading Olmar's mind. "Not supposed to do that, either."

Olmar can't tell if the noise he hears then is something that comes out of him, or the creak of the cab starting to tilt. He wants to believe he just squeaked a little. "I-I-I... yeah."

"Ooh, stuttering. You know you've got this coming."

It feels like his heart's pounding right down into his dick. He always likes it, is the thing. His brain knows his brother wouldn't really hurt him. Thorgil's not really going to dump him off a Ferris wheel in broad daylight. And his dick seems to agree that Thorgil isn't that stupid, or quite that crazy.

It's just really hard to explain this kind of thing to his stomach.

"I'm not even gonna tell you how many you'll get if you throw up on me," Thorgil says. His hand is hovering over Olmar's mouth, not quite covering it but ready to stifle a scream if it comes. The other one is working steadily on Olmar's balls, the base of his fingers pressing the shaft and sliding the condom up a little. "Might just make you lick it up in one of these filthy bathrooms."

"I won't." The cab isn't rocking enough for that. His stomach's just tight and hot, with two different feelings at once, neither of which are nausea. His lips are dry and his legs want to run and all he can do is sit here small in his brother's lap, knowing even Thorgil can't control what happens if the cab decides to tip just a little too far.

"You make a lot of promises." Thorgil starts to move his hand upwards, jerking Olmar off casually from the side with the same motions he'd use on himself. "It's just not the same with a rubber, is it? Gotta have something to make things more exciting." The cab seems to tilt the slightest bit more with each pump.

When the cab starts dropping Olmar's pretty sure they're about to die. It takes a few seconds for his rational mind to kick back in and notice the wheel's creaking with motion and the cab's movement is on an angle. They're moving out of the top position. Just a couple of seconds. Not long enough to really be scared for your life, with the part of your brain that's a human being.

The monkey part of his brain, though, probably would've hit the WET PANTS button by now if that shake had been in there a few more minutes. And he's still hard, and his brother's still touching it, and the thumping in his chest and everywhere else makes everything come out through the head of his cock, as he relaxes out of the total panic state his body scrunched up into during those seconds. A weird release of tension, accompanied by a high-pitched whine that he's not proud of.

"Eight minutes," Thorgil says, not lifting him back up. "Not bad considering you've got a condom on."

Olmar knows he has to keep lying here with his fly open and his head over the edge until Thorgil decides they're really done. He's pretty sure the cab won't tip if it hasn't by now, but his heart isn't slowing down. He doesn't know shit about physics and there's always the chance that being closer to the ground will make the gravity heavier or something. A shorter drop, maybe, but since he's in his brother's lap with his dick out, surviving doesn't sound that fun either.

"I mean, eight minutes is a little embarrassing for a college student," Thorgil says, and Olmar feels him peeling the condom off. The sweat on the back of his neck is starting to drip uncomfortably from a certain point, but he holds his arms as still as he can instead of wiping it off. They're shaking, and he has to dig his fingers into his own pants to keep them still.

The cab gives him another momentary fright when it lowers again, and he realizes he has no idea where they are in the cycle. He tries to figure it out from the positioning of the ones that have floated into his line of sight, but he doesn't know shit about circles either. College hasn't really been his main focus lately.

"But—" and Thorgil finally, finally pulls him back up to a sitting position— "I don't think your little friends will tell anyone." He wipes a circle from one of Olmar's ears, around his chin, and up to the other ear with his sleeve and it comes away with a few tiny dark stains. It could be drool, or tears dried up in the air. Then he claps Olmar on the back. "Your first step towards the Mile High Club! Good work, kid, you're getting pretty good at laying back and doing nothing."

Olmar puts a hesitant hand up to where he thinks his head is. There's a weird pulsing feeling behind his nose while he gets used to the world being the right way up again.

Thorgil tosses the condom over the side and Olmar watches his own cum go sailing off into the blue. Kind of poetic, even if it's just gonna get swept up with a bunch of burger wrappers by some minimum wage janitor. He swallows, trying to get his mouth to work again, and the top of his head gradually stops hurting. Thorgil zips him back up—he'd forgotten all about that, and the first thing he says is, "Thanks."

"It's that good, huh? Too bad we're out of time for me."

Olmar rolls his head back onto his brother's shoulder just before the cab starts to swing into view of the people on the ground and he has to move back to his own seat. For a few quick seconds Thorgil hugs him from behind with both arms, and it might just be for the thrill of how easily they could be seen. But it's the hug and not the orgasm that has Olmar's legs shaking when they step off the ride a minute later.

"You'll get your sea legs one of these days," his brother says, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him in front of the attendants and the people waiting to get on. "Little bro."

He's just making it worse. But he knows that.

"You're gonna need a shower when we get home," Thorgil says in the parking lot.

"You were in there too," Olmar says, tugging his brother's sleeve as playfully as he dares. "And sitting on the seat more."

"Maybe we'll both need one, huh?" Thorgil puts an arm around him that's just barely brotherly. "Finish what you started on me up there. Or you can do that on the road, if traffic's bad."

"Isn't that kinda—" Olmar realizes he just got jerked off in a rocking Ferris wheel cabin. "I mean, like even more dangerous than on a ride?"

"I don't know if anyone's ever run the numbers." Thorgil clicks the key fob and the car beeps at them. "Well, maybe we'll make good time, and maybe we'll die in a fiery crash with your head between my legs."

Olmar hugs the Minion and the Pikachu to his chest. He's almost certain his brother's joking. But nothing's ever 100% certain with Thorgil. Even with the plush Minion covering his heart, he can feel it pounding from the side of his chest.

Before he started all this, Olmar never fully understood how old guys could actually straight up die of heart attacks while they're in the middle of fucking. He does now. And he also understands just why it is that no amount of risk is ever gonna be enough to make them give up on fucking.


End file.
